


Valentine

by someonestolemyshoes



Series: Theirs [5]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff and Humour, KageHina - Freeform, M/M, Valentine's Day, and an awful lot of sickly sweetness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 13:51:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14379990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someonestolemyshoes/pseuds/someonestolemyshoes
Summary: "Hinata supposes he and Kageyama are dating. He supposes so, because he’s seen people dating before—on tv, and in movies, and in the quiet corners of coffee shops and even at school—and People Who Date seem to do an awful lot of the things he and Kageyama do, too.They kiss, and they hold hands, and they spend like, all their time together, and the ones in the tv and in movies (and sometimes in school), they…they do more, kissing in different places, and touching—everywhere.And Hinata supposes it kind of makes sense. It’s the next logical step, right? Kissing, and touching, and—and sex, and more sex; it’s only right, then,  that dating should follow.The problem is they’ve never really…talked about it, before. Things just happened, and now they're here, and—and Hinata is very, very happy about it. He’s happier than he’s ever been in his whole life, maybe, except for when he’s playing volleyball (and even then, it’s a super close second),and he thinks Kageyama is happy, and that should probably be enough, but…Hinata supposes he and Kageyama are dating. He supposes, but he doesn't know, not for certain."





	Valentine

**Author's Note:**

> *nervous sweating* boy it's been A While. I am still here, and I am still lurking, but it's been hard to find the time and energy to write at all lately, and for that I am very sorry. Hopefully life calms down a little some time soon, but until then, all I can offer is this old but (hopefully) good boy.

Hinata supposes he and Kageyama are dating. He supposes so, because he’s seen people dating before—on tv, and in movies, and in the quiet corners of coffee shops and even at  _school_ —and People Who Date seem to do an awful lot of the things he and Kageyama do, too.

They kiss, and they hold hands, and they spend like,  _all_ their time together, and the ones in the tv and in movies (and  _sometimes_ in school), they…they do  _more_ , kissing in different places, and touching—everywhere.

And Hinata supposes it kind of makes sense. It’s the next logical step, right? Kissing, and touching, and—and  _sex,_  and more sex; it’s only right, then, that dating should follow.

The problem is they’ve never really…talked about it, before. Things just  _happened,_ and now they're  _here_ , and—and Hinata is very, very happy about it. He’s happier than he’s ever been in his whole  _life_ , maybe, except for when he’s playing volleyball (and even then, it’s a  _super_ close second),and he thinks Kageyama is happy, and that should probably be enough, but…

Hinata supposes he and Kageyama are dating. He supposes, but he doesn't  _know_ , not for certain.

He would very much like to  _be_  certain. He just…needs to find a way to bring it up, a way that’s not totally weird, or totally stupid. 

It’s an advert that gives him the idea. It plays between two episodes of Natsu’s favourite show, all bright pinks and reds and pretty, swirly handwriting, and a voice talking low and kinda strange _,_ way too…  _bedroom_ , for an ad about  _chocolate_. Hinata is ready to write it off completely, maybe change channels even, because it somehow seems like an inappropriate advertisement to stick on in the middle of a kids show, but then the man with the low, strange voice says, “ _the perfect gift this Valentine’s Day,”_ and just like that, it comes to him.

Because that’s just another thing that People Who Date do, right? They exchange gifts on Valentine’s Day.

The idea is very, incredibly simple. He gives Kageyama a yummy box of chocolates for Valentine’s Day, and if Kageyama accepts them, then they’re dating, right? For sure, no more  _guessing_ and no more  _supposing_. Simple, straightforward, foolproof.

Foolproof, save for a couple minor details. The first, Hinata has no money to  _buy_ chocolates, specially not fancy ones like these; no, Hinata will just have to make some. Which leads him right onto problem number two; he has no idea how to make any kind of chocolates at all.

He tries asking Yamaguchi, first, who tells him to ask Tsukishima, who tells him to go choke, and then he tries Sugawara, who is very busy with grown-up college things and tells him to ask Asahi, who is also very busy with grown-up work things. He offers to help all the same, but apologises eight whole times preemptively in case things go wrong, and when Hinata tells him it’s no big deal, don’t worry about it, he’ll figure it out, Asahi tells him to try the internet, which is where he is now.

The internet, as it turns out, is incredibly unhelpful. It turns up thousands upon thousands of pages of results, but all of them look  _complicated_ , or require ingredients Hinata can’t find in the cupboards of his kitchen, or look complicated  _and_ require ingredients Hinata can’t find in the cupboards of his kitchen.

He could always just ask his mum. She’s good at kitchen stuff, cooking and baking, but she is also nosy, already poking too close into his and Kageyama’s… _relationship_. It’d be too obvious, to ask her. She’d  _know_ , and maybe she wouldn’t let Kageyama stay over anymore, or maybe she  _would_ , but then she’d be all hover-y and watch-y, and they’d never be able to do any of the things they normally do when Kageyama stays the night.

No, mum isn’t an option either. That leaves—well, it leaves an awful lot of people, really, but nobody who Hinata thinks might be of any use. Maybe Noya, or Tanaka, though Hinata isn’t sure baking is really up their alley at all.

He spends the rest of the evening and long into the night wracking his brain, but nothing comes to mind.  _Nobody_ comes to mind. Hinata is half-resigned to the fact that he might just have to give Kageyama an IOU, which just doesn’t have the same effect as a great big box of homemade goodies, until he steps into practice the following morning, and his saving grace greets him at the door.

* * *

“Chocolate?” Yachi asks, missing her mouth for the second time this lunch. Hinata reckons he should probably stop springing questions on her every time she’s about to take a bite, but he also reckons dropping her food back into her bento is maybe the least troublesome thing she could do, spooked as she so often is by unsolicited conversation.

“Mhm,” Hinata hums. “For Valentine’s Day.”

This time, Yachi chokes, which—is about what Hinata might’ve expected. He holds her drink out, and she takes it gratefully, taking a few long swigs and clearing her throat, face traffic light red from chin to brow and cheek to cheek.

“Wh— _why?”_

Hinata shrugs, and shovels back another mouthful of food. He wants to finish this quickly; Kageyama will be waiting, he knows, and already Hinata is itching to play more, to spike Kageyama’s tosses until his head spins—but he has very important business to attend to, first.

“I wanna make some,” he says.

“Isn't—isn’t it normally girls who give chocolates, Hinata?”

Hinata shrugs again. He had considered this greatly, last night, when the idea first came to him, and the internet had been (shockingly) incredibly unhelpful in answering these questions, too—who is the girl when two boys are dating? Am I the girl? Is  _anyone_  a girl? Which boy is supposed to give the chocolates on Valentine’s Day?— but he had decided, in the end, that this was very likely up to him. Not because he’s the  _girl_ or whatever, but because Kageyama is…kind of hopeless, outside of volleyball. Hinata is willing to bet Kageyama doesn’t even know when Valentine’s Day is.

“There isn’t a girl,” Hinata says, and then, “they’re for Kageyama.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Yachi says. Hinata pauses his chopsticks midway to his mouth. That was a weird kind of  _oh_ , all stiff and stunted and strained, like she’d wanted to say something else, something more.

Hinata’s used to people being a little…odd, where he and Kageyama are concerned. He doesn’t blame them, not really, not when he thought it was weird to begin with, when he thought liking Kageyama—feeling blushy and hot and kind of like he wanted to kiss Kageyama all the time—was weird. He’s heard his fair share of comments, here and there, around school or in the park or when they’re walking home, always too close, sometimes hand in hand, because they’re prone to forgetting that some people really do care that they are two boys, doing things that lots of people think two boys shouldn’t do, so it’s not the end of the world that Yachi maybe still finds it kind of strange.

It’s not, but it stings, just a little. At least she isn’t mean about it.

“It’s kinda weird, right?” Hinata says. Yachi shakes her head, abruptly and vehemently, waving her hands in the space between them so hard, the desk wobbles between them.  

“No!” She says. “No! It's—it’s not weird. I just—I forgot, honest. What kind of chocolates do you wanna make?”

“The simple kind,” Hinata says. Yachi looks all sheepish, and impossibly redder than she was before. “Like, something super easy, but also super tasty.”

Yachi taps a finger to her very red chin, thinking. Hinata sort of wishes she’d think a little faster, because lunch is really ticking over, now, and he hasn’t had a chance to see Kageyama at  _all_. But he keeps quiet, only fidgeting a tiny bit, waiting.  

“How about…” Yachi says, and Hinata leans forward, ready to say yes to just about  _anything_ , anything that sounds doable. “Hmm, maybe truffles? Does Kageyama like those?”

Kageyama likes anything chocolate of any kind, Hinata knows, but he also knows it’s maybe supposed to be a secret, because Kageyama has his stick-up-the-ass reputation to uphold, and people with sticks up their asses aren’t supposed to enjoy  _anything,_  let alone sweets. 

“Uh-huh!” Hinata says. He wedges his hands in the gap between his crossed legs and leans even further over the desk. “Are they easy?”

Yachi nods, vehemently.

“Yeah, here, let me write down—”

Hinata’s phone buzzes in his pocket. It’s Kageyama, predictably, about the only person he texts on the regular besides Kenma, saying,  _‘where are you’_ and then, while Hinata is typing his reply _, ‘lunch is almost over,’_  and then,  _‘fine I won’t toss to you, ever,’_  and that’s about as much as Hinata can take.

“Perfect,” Hinata says, gathering up his everything—bento, bag, jacket—in his arms and tripping to his feet, rushing for the door. “Great, you’re the best.”

“Wait, I haven’t even—”

“I’ll get it off you later!” He yells, already out the door, and taking off down the hallway.

He and Kageyama practice like always, Kageyama tossing, Hinata spiking, Kageyama yelling and Hinata yelling some more, and somewhere down the line, they end up kissing, just a little bit. Hinata is warm despite the February chill, and warmer still when Kageyama’s hand slinks up under his shirt, finding the bare skin at the very bottom of his back and pressing, gently.

They find themselves sitting on the floor at the back of the building, crowded into its shadow. Kageyama hikes Hinata up onto his lap, kissing lazily at his face—his cheeks, his nose, his jaw, his lips, soft little nips that make Hinata blush, make his heart stutter in his chest.

“Hey, Kageyama?”

“Hmm,” Kageyama hums. He sounds all distant, distracted, too busy littering Hinata in kisses to pay all that much attention. Hinata likes Kageyama in all his different ways, whether he’s amped up on the court, or grumpy, like in the morning when he’s fresh out of sleep, and even when he’s pushing Hinata around or grabbing his hair or threatening to spit on him after he’s drooled all over his shoulder on long bus journeys, and just being an asshole in general (which is a lot of the time), but he thinks this is maybe his favourite Kageyama of all. Soft, and quiet; the kind of Kageyama only Hinata gets to see.

“Wednesday, after practice, do you wanna hang out, maybe?”

“And do what?” he asks, and maybe it’s Hinata’s imagination, but his voice sounds a little lower than normal, and a little eager. It makes Hinata’s stomach do something hot and flippy and whizzy all at once.

“Not whatever you’re thinking,  _Pervy-yama!”_

Kageyama pulls at his hair, maybe a little too hard, and then kisses him right on the mouth, softer than ever to make up for it.

“Fine,” he says. Hinata thinks it must sound like a chore, to anybody else, like Kageyama’s only grudgingly agreeing, but Hinata has learned all his freaky little nuances, by now. This particular  _fine_ is a very very good one, very agreeable, better than his can-I-copy-your-English-homework fine, but maybe not quite as good as his toss-to-me fine. Close, though.

See, it’s things like this that make Hinata think they’re maybe People Who Date, too. Kissing when they don’t  _have_ to kiss, and touching when they don’t  _have_ to touch, when they know it’s going nowhere (although Hinata thinks Kageyama would most definitely take it somewhere, if he could get away with it), and making plans with no real plans at all; these are all things that People Who Date do.

Hinata supposes he and Kageyama are dating. They  _must_ be.

And by Wednesday, February 14th, Hinata will know for sure.

* * *

Despite Yachi’s relatively simple instructions, making truffles is  _hard_. It requires very little cooking, and yet Hinata still manages to burn three separate dishes, and on two occasions, he spills crushed up biscuit crumbs all over the counter, and the floor. By the time they are done, no part of the kitchen is untouched by sticky, cooling chocolate, or flour or cream or biscuit, and no part of  _Hinata_ is untouched, either. 

He stares forlornly at the mess, and the pitiful-looking truffles in their box, all crooked and wonky and misshapen and  _bad_ , just bad, maybe the worst thing he’s made ever in his life,  _ever_.

In hindsight, he suspects it might’ve been easier to just  _ask_.  _‘Hey, Kageyama, are we dating?’_ and Kageyama would say, ‘ _Yes, Dumbass, how stupid are you? Of course we’re dating, you’re such an idiot’_ and then, ‘ _I’ll toss to you forever, because we’re dating, and also you’re the best spiker, so much better than Tsukishima,’_ and then they’d kiss, probably, and everything would have been fine, and nothing would have been burned—not pots or pans or Hinata’s fingers (all of them)—and Hinata would have saved himself hours of trouble and, probably, a lifetime of embarrassment.

But hindsight, he has been told, is always way better than regular old vision, so maybe in tomorrow’s hindsight, after he’s given Kageyama the chocolates and become a real, established Person Who Dates, this will have been the best idea ever. Maybe in tomorrow’s hindsight, it’ll all be worth it.

Hinata sticks resolutely to that thought as he packs his haphazard chocolate package into the fridge to cool, and sets to work cleaning his never ending mess.

* * *

Hinata doesn’t feel nervous at all, all day. Not at practice in the morning, or in class, or at lunch or at practice in the evening; no nerves at all of any kind, until everyone is getting changed, and then everyone is leaving, and it’s only him and Kageyama left in the clubroom.

It’s not like spending time alone with Kageyama makes him nervous; it makes him giddy, sure, and gives him whole swarms of butterflies, flapping away in his stomach, churning him up until he feels almost sick with it, but those are—those are very good things. It’s the same kind of thrill he gets on the court, only more, and warmer, all hot and bubbling right under his skin. Kageyama makes him  _excited_ , not nervous.

Except, apparently, for today, because Hinata is definitely nervous now.

He’s starting to wonder if maybe this is  _weird._  If giving Kageyama chocolates is weird, and if assuming they’re probably dating is weird, and if asking Kageyama to come do nothing with him is weird.

But it’s too late to back out now. The truffles sit boxed in the bottom of his back, wrapped in paper and a pretty silk ribbon (that Yachi had to tie for him, because Hinata can barely tie a knot in his own laces, never mind a  _bow_ ), packed and ready to be handed over. Hinata had been really very fine with it all, up until now. But now he wonders if it’s…maybe too much. Valentine’s Day is all  _romantic_ , and he and Kageyama—even if they are dating, which Hinata  _thinks_ they are (god he hopes they are, or he’s about to look real stupid), they don’t really do  _romance._

Kageyama leads them outside silently. Hinata follows in his wake, which in itself is probably a pretty grand giveaway that something is amiss, because on a normal day Hinata hates walking anywhere less than beside him. Kageyama looks at him kind of funny, out the corner of his eye, but he keeps his mouth blissfully shut, walking until they reach Ukai’s shop at the bottom of the hill.

He comes to an abrupt stop, so much so that Hinata almost walks right into him.

“Oi, what’re you—”

“Where are we going?”

Hinata is swiftly realising he really hasn’t thought this through at all. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked to hang out at all. Maybe he should’ve just…just left the truffles for Kageyama to find, or handed them to him and maybe punched him and ran away. What he shouldn’t have done was arranged to spend a whole evening with Kageyama, maybe even a whole  _night_ with him, during which he is at some point going to have to hand over this stupid, embarrassing gift, and then endure his embarrassment for the rest of the day.

Unless…unless Kageyama doesn’t  _accept_ it, which,  _oh_. Oh, that was not a possibility he had really considered before. Sure, he wasn’t  _certain_ they were dating, and this was…it was a test, to see, to find out once and for all, but—but what if they really  _aren’t_ a—a couple. What if there’s nothing else going on at all, besides friends who play volleyball and kiss and have sex often sometimes?

“—nata. Hinata. Oi, Hinata!”

Hinata jumps, and lifts his fists for good measure, in case Kageyama has decided he’s angry in the time Hinata has been drifting, but he doesn’t seem angry at all. Just sort of passively grumpy, like normal. Hinata lowers his hands again, and grabs at the hem of his jacket, fiddling with the fabric.

“I asked where we’re going,” Kageyama says, slowly, like he’s talking to a child, or a particularly stupid person. Hinata doesn’t like either insinuation.

“I heard,” Hinata huffs. Kageyama’s fingers twitch a little threateningly at his side. “I don’t  _know_. Wherever—where do you wanna go?”

Hinata feels acutely like some special kind of idiot, under Kageyama’s stare. He reckons he kind of deserves it, because he must sound like some special kind of idiot, asking Kageyama to hang out with no hang out plans at the ready. He shuffles his feet one over the other, awkward, staring down at Kageyama’s shoes instead of at his face.

“Stupid,” Kageyama grumbles. He grabs Hinata’s hand in his own big one, unhooking his fingers from his jacket and knotting them tight with his, and then he’s pulling them, down the path right to the crossroads, where a left turn will take Hinata home, and a right will take them to—

“My house, then,” Kageyama says. Hinata follows him helplessly.

Kageyama shoots him funny looks the whole journey. It’s probably because Hinata is being  _quiet_ , which is so far removed from how he normally is, or because he’s being slow, or maybe he looks about as nervous as he feels. Whatever the reason, Hinata doesn’t much like it.

He takes an unreasonable amount of time to untie his shoes, once they get inside. Kageyama stands over him, crossing his arms and tapping his toes, but Hinata keeps things slow as he can without making Kageyama  _too_ angry. It’s only prolonging the inevitable, he knows—whether it be embarrassment or plain, outright rejection.

Kageyama pulls him up the stairs with a huffy little, “come  _on_ , dumbass,” to which Hinata has no good reply. His stomach is churning nastily, kind of like it used to before games, and he wonders for a long, horrible minute if maybe he’s going to be sick, or  _worse._

He sits on Kageyama’s bed only so it doesn’t look so obvious when he holds at his nervous middle, begging his insides to keep quiet, and keep everything down, or up, or whatever. Kageyama sits, too, crossing his legs up on the mattress, scrutinizing him.

“You’re being weird,” he says. Hinata absolutely didn’t need to be told. He knows he’s being weird, knows he  _looks_ weird, and probably stupid.

Kageyama, by comparison, looks no different than usual; that is, he looks good, every little bit of him, from his hair to his face to his hands to his legs, even his feet look  _good_. Because Kageyama just looks good, all the time.

Most days, Hinata would get lost in it. Sucked into Kageyama’s good-lookingness, in his pretty eyes or his long lashes, or the nice, strong curve of his jaw, or the soft skin of his neck, or—or his just about everything, really, but today, his brain is far too occupied. It’s in the bottom of his bag with the truffles, playing over the many, varied ways this could go horribly wrong.

He is pulled abruptly  _out_ of his bag again by Kageyama’s finger, flicking him sharply right between his brows.

“ _Owww_ , Kageyama! What the hell?”

“Stop being so quiet,” Kageyama says. “It’s  _weird_.”

“I’m  _thinking_ ,” Hinata says, which isn’t strictly a lie, but is also not the whole truth, either.

“Well, don’t,” Kageyama says, and then, “Tsukishima says stupid people shouldn’t think so hard. It’s dangerous.”

“Tsukishima was talking about  _you_ when he said that.”

The corner of Kageyama’s mouth crinkles, just a little, like he’s maybe thinking about smiling. It’d be nice if he did smile, whole and full, because Hinata likes his smile an awful lot, even if it’s a little scary sometimes, and a lot of threatening at others. At times like this, when it’s just the two of them, and usually when Hinata has done something dumb, his smile is  _nice_. Soft, and easy. It makes Hinata feel all warm and cosy, and warm and cosy is what he needs to be feeling right about now.

“Are you done?” Kageyama asks him. “Thinking,” he clarifies a second later, like he thinks Hinata is too stupid to infer anything at all. Huffing, Hinata nods. He hikes his bag up into his lap, and folds his arms over it, nose to the air, looking pointedly at the wall, and not at Kageyama.

“Good,” he says. “Now stop being weird, and tell me what you're  _thinking.”_

There is no getting out of this, then. Not even if he wanted to, which he definitely doesn’t, not after all the effort he went through, but maybe he kind of does a little bit too because giving Kageyama those truffles and dealing with, well, with whatever comes after, sounds kind of terrifying.

And even if he really, truly did want to just…not, not bother at all, he knows that Kageyama won’t let him. He’s an awful liar, absolutely terrible, gets all sweaty and fidgety and stutter-y, and Kageyama knows so better than anybody.

He is just…going to have to do it. Give him chocolates, see this thing through, and hope yesterday’s foresight was good enough.

Hinata rubs his thighs together, fidgeting with the zip on his bag. He feels uncomfortable, too hot and too jittery, too big for Kageyama’s bedroom, out of place in his nerves.

“I…brought you something,” he says. “And I didn’t want to give it to you at school, because it’s kind of weird, and I didn’t wanna look stupid and also you might not like it or want it or—”

“Stop. Shut up, stop that,” Kageyama says. He sounds pretty calm and not at all angry, which is kind of weird, for Kageyama. He looks…bewildered, Hinata thinks is probably the best word. Wide eyed and a little lost. “What is it?”

Hinata fiddles with his bag some more. And then, before he can try talking himself out of it, he unzips it, and delves in, fishing the chocolates from the very bottom, and lifting them gingerly out.

He stares at the pretty little box, squeezing it too tight in his grip. He could have made them better, for sure, and god, oh  _god_ , he didn’t even taste them—what if they’re awful? What if they’re  _poisonous?_ It’s no good finding out if he and Kageyama are dating or not if Kageyama’s gonna drop dead right after.

But there is no turning back now. Kageyama is watching him, eyes flitting between Hinata’s face and the box and back again.

Hinata takes the biggest breath he can take, chest and cheeks puffing full of air, and then he stretches his arms as far as they’ll go, holding the little box right under Kageyama’s nose.

Kageyama looks quizzically at the truffles, and Hinata’s stomach drops right down into his heels.

“What’re they for?”

 _Shit._  Oh  _shit_ , there it is—that’s his answer, right there. Kageyama doesn’t…he doesn’t even  _get_ it, that’s how not-dating they are. So not-dating that Kageyama doesn’t even understand why Hinata would be  _trying_ to give him a gift at all.

Hinata thinks it’d be kind of nice if something big could swallow him down whole, right about now, whether it be the ground opening up beneath his feet or some great beast, with fiery breath and sharp teeth and the welcome jaws of death, taking him far, far away, because if something doesn’t come kill him soon, the embarrassment might just get him first. It’d be nicer to be sucked away in one fell swoop than to let shame nibble away at him, one life-long second at a time.

Hinata drops the truffles in Kageyama’s lap and wriggles his fists between his thighs, hunching his shoulders.

“Valentine’s Day,” he mumbles. Kageyama squints at him, his face all pinched around the middle. He’s thinking probably way harder than he needs to be, Hinata knows, like he does when he can’t decide what kind of milk to get, or which volleyball is the firmest, or whether to where his black hoodie or his more black hoodie. It shouldn’t take this much  _thinking_ , not at all.

“Valentine’s Day,” Kageyama says. Hinata grips at the bedding between his knees, and nods. “Why?”

 _Why_.

If he’d had the time, Hinata could have come up with a million different ways Kageyama could’ve rejected him, some nasty and some nastier and some maybe a little guilty, and not so nasty at all, but he’d never have imagined Kageyama could’ve crushed him so brutally with one lousy, honest word.

 _Why_.

“Because that’s—that’s what people do on Valentine’s Day, Kageyama! They buy chocolates, and hold hands, and—and kiss, and…and stuff.”

“You’re a boy,” Kageyama says, and yeah, here it comes— _boys don’t do that, dumbass, we’re just teammates, not even friends probably because I’m Kageyama and I don’t have any friends except for my volleyball and Tsukishima, kind of_ —and Hinata braces himself for the rejection he’d stupidly never predicted, until today, but it doesn’t come. What comes instead is Kageyama’s quiet, very confused little voice, mumbling past his pouted lips, saying, “I thought only girls gave chocolates.”

“Well, neither of us are  _girls_ , idiot,” Hinata says, sulking. “And the internet didn’t say anything at all about which  _boy_ is supposed to give chocolates, and you’re so  _stupid_ I knew you wouldn’t even thinkabout it, and…and I wanted to…to see.” 

Kageyama cocks his head to one side, like a puppy, only big and lanky and lopey and  _stupid_. So stupid.

“To see what?”

Hinata curls all the way in on himself, bends right over until his forehead hits the bedding, chin by his knees, and he does it with a long, drawn out groan. His cheeks feel all hot, and he knows they’re probably red, redder than they’ve ever been in his life, because this whole situation is just…stupid, and embarrassing, and all Kageyama’s fault, but also entirely his own fault, too.

“ _If we’re dating_ ,” he says. His words come muffled by the bedding, and Kageyama mustn’t hear him, because instead of saying anything at all, he just knocks on the back of Hinata’s head with his knuckles and tugs at his hair, urging him up. Hinata stays resolutely still, shaking him off. The last thing he wants to see is Kageyama’s face, plainly and simply rejecting him. Hinata knows he has had some…questionable ideas, in the past, but this whole thing is maybe up there with the worst.

And why,  _god_ , did nobody try telling him how stupid it was? All those people—Yamaguchi, Yachi, Suga, Asahi, even  _Tsukishima_ —and not one of them thought it might be a good idea to say  _hey, maybe just…don’t do that._ They could have saved him an awful lot of embarrassment, definitely, and a little bit of pain, too, because—it kinda hurts. Hinata hadn’t expected today to hurt at  _all_.

But it does. It feels all weird in his chest, empty and too much all at once, and he feels  _hot_ , all of him, the most feverish, uncomfortable kind of heat.

“Dumbass, get  _up._  I can’t hear you like that.”

Hinata rolls his face to one side, so the bedding isn’t so suffocating, but he still doesn’t sit up—doesn’t dare look Kageyama in the face.

“To see if we’re  _dating_ ,  _Bakageyama!_ And now I know! There, happy? Now just, let me lay here and  _die.”_

Kageyama goes quiet, for a time. A really, really long time, so long Hinata wonders if maybe he just…left, but no, because the mattress is still dipped in his direction, and this is  _his_ house. If either of them have to leave, it’s Hinata.

And that’s probably what he should do. Go home, away from Kageyama, and maybe just never speak to him again ever, because how on  _earth_ can he face him after misunderstanding their  _relationship_ so grossly? Hinata had really thought, all this time (and  _boy_ it’s been…a long time, now) that he and Kageyama were  _something_ , at least.

But clearly, he was wrong. Clearly, he’s an idiot. Clearly, Kageyama is on a very different page.

Hinata hugs himself, willing all the blood in his body to leave his cheeks so he can at least sit up without humiliating himself further.

“I am,” Kageyama says. Hinata hugs himself tighter.

“You are  _what_?”

“Happy,” he says. “But you…aren’t.” The last part sounds unsure, to which Hinata scoffs, and smushes his cheek to the mattress.

“No  _duh_ ,” he grumbles. Kageyama’s fingers thread themselves into Hinata’s hair again, but they are softer, this time, gentler, and when he pulls it’s only a little, and it’s…kind of nice. Hinata hates it.

“I don’t understand,” Kageyama says, slowly. His fingers keep touching, pulling or stroking at his hair. It makes Hinata’s eyes all sleepy, and he lets them drift closed, lets Kageyama touch him, and lets the disappointment really hit him.

“‘Course you don’t,” he hiccups. He  _hates_ how he sounds, words all thick and clumsy in this throat. Kageyama’s thumb brushes his forehead, right by his hairline.

“Is dating me  _that_ bad?”

Haah? 

“ _Haah_?”

“Dating me,” Kageyama says. “Is it really so bad you wanna die?”

Hinata sits up, abrupt, so fast Kageyama jumps where he sits.

“What?”

“What, what?”

Hinata scrambles forward on his knees, over what little space there is between his knees and Kageyama’s crossed legs, and leans all the way forward, so close, Kageyama’s eyes morph into a big blue bob right in the middle of his face.

“Say that again.”

“…you wanna die?”

“No, the other thing. Before that.”

“Dating me?”

Hinata points at him, jabbing a finger harshly in the air between them.

“That! There!”

Hinata scarcely wants to believe it. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up, not when they’ve already been so thoroughly dashed once today. He holds his breath, way up in his chest, high and tight.

“Why’d you say that?" 

“Because…we’re  _dating_ ,” Kageyama says, and it’s in that stupid slow voice again, the one Hinata hates, the one that makes him feel like a real, absolute idiot, and then his eyes go wide, big and bright, and his mouth tucks into a neat little  _o_ , and he says, “that’s…what we’re  _doing_ , right?”

Hinata doesn’t have an answer, not a real one. He only laughs, big and airy and open, disbelieving, because it’s not just  _him_ that’s stupid—it’s both of them, definitely. They’re both the biggest, most dumb idiots he’s ever met, but it doesn’t matter.

What matters is, he and Kageyama are dating. They  _are._  They really, really are, and maybe that shouldn’t make Hinata so extraordinarily happy, but it  _does_. He grins so wide it hurts, and launches himself bodily at Kageyama, curling his arms right over his shoulders and mashing their mouths together so hard it hurts, pulls a little  _mmph_ from Kageyama’s chest.

Kageyama catches him about the waist, big hands warm and solid right above his hips. He’s surprised by the outburst, Hinata knows, but it doesn’t stop him kissing back just as hard, just as clumsy.

“Forget,” kiss, “I said,” kiss, “anything,” kiss kiss _kisskisskisskiss_. Hinata peppers Kageyama’s mouth with little pecks until he is dizzy, until Kageyama slows them with a hand at the back of Hinata’s neck, cupping his head, easing him into the softest, nicest,  _longest_  kiss they’ve ever had, ever.

When Kageyama breathes out against him, it’s all shaky, and the noise that leaves him is barely there, the sweetest little moan Hinata has heard.

Hinata pulls back, and Kageyama chases him a little way, close enough that his nose tickles along Hinata’s, and before Hinata can say anything, any of the things buzzing about in his mind—you’re so stupid, I’m so stupid, we’re so stupid, we’re  _dating_ —Kageyama’s lips find his throat, instead, pressing hot and wet over the skin. Hinata tilts his head back on a little moan, and his eyes drift shut, a shudder creeping right the way up his spine.

“I’ll get them, next year.”

“Hn?” Hinata’s brain feels all foggy, with Kageyama’s lips on his neck, his warm, wet tongue poking to lap at his skin with every word.

“Chocolates,” Kageyama says. He trails his way up, over his jaw, and back to his mouth, kissing him openly. “Next year, I’ll get them.”

Hinata grins into the kiss, kicking his bag to the floor and letting Kageyama push him back, all the way, until his spine hits the mattress and Kageyama’s big, warm body settles over him, fingers dipping teasingly under the hem of Hinata’s shirt.   

* * *

He and Kageyama are dating.

They kiss, and they hold hands, and they exchange chocolates on Valentine’s Day and they touch, just like this, shaky and giddy and sure—just like all the People Who Date do.

There is no more guessing and no more  _supposing_ , because now, for absolute certain, Hinata  _knows_. 

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: someone-stole-my-shoes  
> Twitter: someone_stolemy


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